It makes me anxious, reading
your words. I’ve done my years
of anxious, of constantly running
three steps ahead of a fit. I threw
that shit away in 2009
after my good intentions got slammed
by a sledgehammer
of entrenched mediocrity.
And that was just in my work life.
Friends come and go and I
became caught up in a frenzy
of mindless socializing, of running
from event to event and bar
to bar guzzling the cocktail du jour
or on trend micro beer.
I fell for their slack-jawed mantra
that you’re only really living when
you’re immersed in “the culture”.
But I don’t believe their version
is the one and only true religion
and I grew tired of trying
to be more like them.
I’m not like them.
I called bullshit on it all and just stopped.
The Known Unknown
Indistinct edges of the grey day
fade into tendrils of forgotten thoughts:
birth caul over a baby’s face, thud of dirt
on a crone’s coffin—everything in between
so much receding matter. Ancient burial grounds
fester beneath glass and concrete as the living replace
the dead, decade upon decade—water dripping moments
absorbed into earth where Juju beads hold no sway.